


Roses for Everafter

by tenienteross (ada)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3211451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ada/pseuds/tenienteross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Alistair receives an unexpected gift in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses for Everafter

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I understand why there was no mention of a romanced Warden if she stayed as Alistair's mistress, I wanted to fill in the gaps with fluffy fic.

Writing letters late at night was not one of Alistair’s favourite pastimes. As a king, he knew his duties to the crown very well and he carried them out almost happily. But addressing royalty or important dignitaries with his wits and words only? He couldn’t say he was _that_ good at diplomatic relations. Somewhere in the future, a disaster was bound to happen if he kept taking care of the international correspondence.

But it had to be done; his diplomats were already busy with more urgent matters as it was, requesting that His Majesty looked after minor affairs personally. So, he continued scribbling a letter addressed to a fancy Antivan merchant prince on the piece of parchment. Maker’s breath, it was so exhausting dealing with them and their beloved money. His headache was getting worse by the minute.

A soft knock on the door startled him, ruining his modestly acceptable calligraphy with an ink stain on the margin – and his shirt. He cursed to himself and stood up, trying to clean the black spots with little success.

“Come in,” he mumbled. A long sigh left his lips as he examined the mess he had made of himself in a few seconds. 

One his servants, a young man called Jan, entered the room carrying a silver tray.

“Your Majesty, I am sorry to bother you at this hour. However, I was asked to deliver this to your presence.”

Alistair gave Jan a puzzled look, while the man put the tray down on the desk and bowed briefly before him. 

“Asked? By whom?”

“I do not know, Your Majesty. A note was left in the servant’s quarters with orders to bring this to your presence immediately. I thought it might be important,” Jan confessed, a bit troubled.

Alistair rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.

“Well, we just had Venatori spies inside the palace. Perhaps they’re trying to kill me again, with fine silverware,” he snorted.

The servant’s expression, though, looked shocked at the realization and jumped, completely terrified. 

“I am s-so sorry, Your Majesty. I did not… I never considered… Maker’s breath, forgive me!” The poor man panicked - his face was white and his voice a high pitch. 

Alistair waved his hand and smiled, trying to calm him down. Sometimes, he had to remind himself that the servants were probably the only people who took him seriously. That was something he would never get used to.

“Don’t worry, Jan. It was a joke,” he added, resting a hand of the man’s shoulder. “Shall we take a look?” Jan agreed, still shaken. 

The tray was covered with an embroidered piece of cloth. Not Fereldan, that was for sure – too many brocades and bright colours. Alistair removed it, and he would have never been ready for what he found

A small, beautiful red rose.

-

“Very well, you got me. I have no idea what’s this all about.”

Alistair had convinced her to play along. _I have a surprise_. Those had been his words upon her arrival. It was necessary that she was blindfolded, Alistair had added. She had laughed it off and assured him that if he wanted to be _naughty_ in bed, he had but to ask. Alistair had began to stutter at that moment, babbling things like _well, it’s not like that now, not that I mind it but_ , increasingly flustered. Despite all the years they had spent with each other and all they had lived together, she still managed to make him blush like the Chantry boy he had been long ago. She took a little pride in the effect she caused on him. 

However, things had changed in the last years. Since becoming Warden-Commander of Ferelden, her visits to Denerim had decreased and were scarcer. Matters required her presence in Amaranthine or Vigil’s Keep. He was trying to rule a kingdom that still suffered the grave consequences of the Blight. They were in no position to be selfish, yet they always found moments to be together when the opportunity arose. That was all they had for now, a few hours or days that they treasured. There were rumours among the nobility and not all of them approved of him keeping a “mistress”. However, when said mistress was the Hero of Ferelden -the woman who had slained an archdemon and survived-, nobles were not so prone to share their thoughts on the matter publicly. 

Fortunately, the _close_ relations between the kingdom and Fereldan Grey Wardens served as an excuse to see each other more often than not. Alistair had arranged his schedule to be as free as possible for a couple of evenings while she stayed at the Royal Palace, as always. This time, though, he was up to something and she had noticed a different sparkle in his eyes the moment they had met.

He took her that afternoon to the courtyard, guiding her body through corridors, hallways and royal chambers until they arrived to their destination. She heard the buzz of insects around and the sound of a fountain very close, its water pouring slowly. There was a strong essence in the air, but she couldn’t quite discern its origin. 

“I had hoped to impress the great Hero of Ferelden,” Alistair chuckled softly beside her. 

“You are always full of surprises, Your Majesty. And witty one-liners,” she remarked, grinning. 

He started to unfold her eyes carefully. Sunlight struck her sight and left her blind for a few seconds. She blinked repeatedly, getting used to seeing again. Alistair was there in front of her, all dashing and handsome. There was so much tenderness in the way he stared at her; she always missed that look while staying at Vigil’s Keep. 

“So, now what?” She wondered, enthusiastically. 

Alistair grabbed her elbow and pointed his finger somewhere behind her. When she turned her body, her eyes went wide with surprise. Her throat was suddenly dry, her cheeks flushed. 

Before them, a newly planted rose bush was growing in a small parcel of the gardens. Its leaves were a dark green, while some of the rosebuds were already blooming, painting the picture with little red dots. 

She faced Alistair, who scratched the back of his neck – a clear sign of nervousness. The gesture was so unkingly, yet so Alistair-like, she couldn’t help but smile even more.

“Alistair, this is…,” she trailed off. For all her heroics, tears were about to run down her face, making a great effort to hold them back. He, also, had that effect on her.

Alistair took a deep breath and, caressing her cheeks, got closer and leaned on, their foreheads touching.

“Do you remember that rose I gave you from Lothering? It reminded me of you, and now these will do the same,” he whispered, tenderly, his thumb drawing circles on her skin. “They will keep us together when we are apart.”

Forgetting about manners and appearances, not even caring if they were alone or not at the courtyard, she threw her arms around his neck, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. 

He really had impressed her, as he always did.

-

Alistair’s heart bounced inside his chest. The rose lied on the tray, a memento of how much he missed that woman. But questions were piling in his mind. What did it mean? Who was behind it, and why now? He had a hard time believing this was a prank – mostly because nobody in Fereldan nobility had such a sense of humour. Servants were out the question, too frightened to earn a reprimand from Arl Eamon.

Dismissing poor Jan, he took a closer look at the flower. It had been pulled up recently, drops of dew still shining on its petals. The fresh, strong perfume brought him back to that evening he had shown her the flowers and he started to have ideas. Ideas he should not hold, vain hopes that could end in disappointment. But he wished his suspicions were true _so much_ , it ached. 

Putting on a coat on top of his stained, linen shirt and his breeches, Alistair grabbed the door’s knob and opened it. He was not at his best kingly fashion, but the castle was asleep. No sound came from the corridors or adjacent chambers. A few torches hanged from the stone walls, lightning the place dimly. It was still too dark to see around him in detail, and the castle had a gloomy atmosphere Alistair was not really fond of. 

However, despite the lack of proper vision, something lying on the floor beneath one of the torches caught his eye. He walked towards it and, strangely, wasn’t surprised to find another rose. Almost identical to the one he carried, he noticed. A feeling of excitement began to grow in his stomach, both frightened and hopeful, suddenly too awake to realise what he was doing. Could it be…? No, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He should not. She had been gone for what, nearly two years? No news from her, no letters. His uncle had advised him to move on. Even Teagan had. Of course, he had refused, clinging to the smallest hope she would, one day, return to his side. He knew why she had had to go – she had told him it was for the Grey Wardens and for them, to give them the chance to live a future in peace, not having to suffer their Calling. 

_Ferelden would lose its king, and I would lose you. I will not allow it if there is anything I can do to stop it_. Those had been her last words, and he had had to simply accept it. He trusted her and never doubted her promise to come back. But days, months had passed, then a year. No sign of the Hero of Ferelden, and he felt like something was dying inside his body – like a missing limb, a piece of his heart. 

Another rose was waiting for him at the end of the corridor; and another one in the next room. Roses kept materializing on the floor from the darkness, marking a path he thought he knew where it led. 

And he was right.

After going through the pantry’s backdoor, Alistair found himself at the courtyard. The moon was shining above the castle, while a cool breeze was shaking the trees and its leaves. He wrinkled his nose when the cold air hit him, trying to warm himself up by rubbing both his palms. 

The courtyard was seemingly empty, as it was expected at that time. It was past midnight already. Only a few distant noises coming from the city could be heard, the barking of a dog somewhere in its streets. His feet moved on his own, and he knew where they were leading him. 

Then he saw it. A silhouette in front of him, meters away. His heart stopped for a moment, his eyes focused.

Hiding among the shadows cast by large walls and trees, Alistair could distinguish a hooded figure. It was crouching before the rose bush, a few more flowers lying towards it, guiding him there. 

Now he was running, not fumbling in the darkness anymore. His coat flapped against his legs, pearls of sweat falling from his face. And the beats of his heart were faster than ever, rushing more and more. Breathless, he reached the unknown visitor and time froze. 

_Could it really be…?_ No, he repeated himself. 

“They look beautiful, my king.” A female voice came from the body. 

With the broadest smile carved on his lips, Alistair turned the cloaked figure to face him, pulling the hood down.

At that moment, his heart rushed once more. “And you’re as beautiful as ever, my love.”

Maker, it really was _her_. Everything felt so real it could not be true. Maybe he was just dreaming in his bed, all of this just an illusion crafted by some sneaky demon. But she did not vanish, standing there with piercing blue eyes, the very image of a powerful enchantress. Sometimes, he had joked about how she had cast a spell on him, making the great king of Ferelden kiss the floor she stepped on. Truth was, no spells were needed for him to adore her as much as he did. 

She answered with a grin, closing the distance between them and placing her hands around his neck. He inhaled her scent, the essence of roses filling the garden. With closed eyes, she found his lips and planted a sweet, slow kiss on them – something both of them missed and thought lost. 

“I found it, Alistair. There will not be a Calling for any us, not anymore,” she whispered when they stopped to catch their breaths, resting her hands against his chest. 

He left a soft laughter come from his mouth, feeling her warmth, embracing her as if she was going to disappear like a dream. 

“You really area a miracle worker.” He kissed her again, first on her cheeks, then on her mouth. “I’m just glad you made it back to me,” he mumbled inside the kiss. 

She stared back, longingly, raising his hand to brush the lines of his face. A thin layer of stubble was growing around his jaw line, its touch lightly rough. She liked it.

“It took me a bit longer than I had expected. I’m sorry.” Alistair could notice a hint of guilt in her glance, the way she avoided his eyes while saying it aloud. 

Alistair answered with another smile, wrinkles starting to show around his eyes. “You just like to torment poor old me.”

“That too, Your Majesty,” she conceded mockingly, bowing before him.

Alistair crossed his arms, amused. She always managed to cheer him up, no matter the situation – even if her sole appearance had been enough to make him the happiest man on Thedas. 

Then, adopting his most respectable stance, he offered his arm. “My lady, if you would be so kind to accompany to my bedchamber, I would be most pleased to show you the way.”

“So bold, Your Majesty!” She accepted his arm, feigning embarrassment.

They both laughed once more, walking together towards the door that would take them inside the castle. This time, without rushing or fearing when the next goodbye would arrive.


End file.
